The Faded Root
The letter was yellowed at the edges, the ink faded to a brown that looked like dried blood, and Elias Vane read it for the third time, his thumb tracing the signature of a man who had been dead for six years. He sat in the high-backed chair by the window, the light of late afternoon cutting a sharp, dusty diagonal across the floorboards, illuminating the grain of the oak and the dark, creeping...
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